Local Contributor
27 July 2025, 8:00 PM
By Carol Goddard
I very much enjoy taking an impromptu road trip with friends. The excitement of the planning, the anticipation of spending a few carefree days with besties, enjoying spur of the moment adventures has always appealed.
The over 60s were given a travel gift a few years ago, when a new fare of $2.50 a day enabled us to explore NSW by public transport. This put joy into the hearts of many a frugal senior, including one of my best mates Ron.
He is a chook farmer, an egg producer, extremely entrepreneurial and very talented musically.
Music, particularly rock music, is Ron's passion. Not only is he self taught on guitar and harmonica, but he is also a gifted songwriter.
He can belt out a tune with a raspy rock voice which usually brings the house down, wherever he's performing with his band, which is quite awesome considering he only discovered very late in life that he could sing.
I recall one day commenting to him that some of the establishments he played at seemed a little rough. Ron's response?
"Ahh, the seedier the better, Carol.”
This reminded me of that pub scene in The Blues Brothers movie where the band had to play behind netting for fear of being hit by the odd flying beer bottle from a rowdy crowd. We had a good old laugh.
A few years ago, a bunch of Ron's friends, including hubby and I, decided to take advantage of the $2.50 a day travel. Ron was our designated leader and took on the responsibility of organising a two-day escape to Lithgow and Katoomba.
Not only did Ron choose the destination. He also put himself in charge of finding accommodation.
Most of the couples lived in the Newcastle area, while hubby and I lived in Cronulla. So we met at Sydney's Central Station and caught a train together to Lithgow.
This was like a school excursion with naughty children, except that we were naughty 60-plus.
As station by station flew by, we laughed all the way, encouraged by the antics of one very funny lady. Though we had not met most of the group before, and there were 10 of us, we almost immediately became mates. This was shaping up to be a fun two days.
We arrived in Lithgow and set off to tour a pottery factory which Ron had researched, and organised as our first point of interest. According to Google Maps, it was within walking distance of the station.
When we arrived at the site we found a derelict building, looking forlorn, ancient paint peeling, weeds escaping from rusted downpipes, windows shattered as if a bomb had hit.
This was the pottery factory. No sign of life, except for the sounds and the prints of our footsteps on the uneven gravel.
With much ribbing and guffawing, poor Ron immediately became the butt of many a joke. The factory had obviously not produced pottery for a long time.
Back to the station we strolled, our funny lady being pushed all the way in a discarded shopping trolley we'd discovered in the long grass. The spontaneity and the silliness was going to continue. We'd definitely started well.
Arriving in Katoomba, we made our way to our accommodation, which quite coincidentally happened to be a pub, advertising an open mic night that night.
But it wasn't a coincidence. Ron loves performing. Ron loves an open mic night. So he booked our trip, and our place to stay, accordingly. He figured he'd at least have an audience of nine. The tariff was very low, in keeping with our $2.50 per day travel budget. It was a win all round.
Now this pub from first appearance couldn't be described as five-star. In fact, it gave the impression of an old, rundown watering hole. There was a smell of stale beer lingering in the entrance way, history in that smell, with the inside gloom adding to the atmosphere.
The formidable bar person, who was completely lacking in the art of welcoming, gave us our old-fashioned room keys, and off up the very worn carpeted staircase we climbed, to our rooms.
Imagine our dismay. Struggling with the door key, hubby and I finally manage to break into our room to discover double bunks, and in one corner a vintage sink complete with dripping tap and a greenish stain decorating the basin.
Added to this was the joy of shared bathroom facilities, situated a veritable kilometre down the draughty, cold and exceedingly drab hallway. History notwithstanding, the place needed a makeover.
Hubby grimaced. A change of room was needed. We tossed up to see who was to confront the formidable bar person, and I lost.
Back down to reception, and with the utmost diplomacy, I successfully negotiated another room, complete with a double bed, no sink, and an open window , which unfortunately was stuck open.
In Katoomba, in winter.
Worse still, this window was over the pub carpark. Fabulous. But I wasn't going back down those stairs to change our room again - this was our room for the night. Unfortunately, we were still sharing that uninviting and draughty bathroom.
Meeting up with our mates, drinks, pub grub and more drinks were the order of the night. The dining area had the aroma of beers, burgers and deep fry. The tables sticky from years of patronage, and as the glasses clinked and the cutlery scraped, we took part in that noisy revelry that temporarily brought us back our youth.
The best was yet to come, the open mic competition. Ron had strategically signed up as late as possible, and so was 11th on the runsheet. It was going to be a long and boozy night.
The calibre of performers that night ranged from the very, very good, to the not so good, to the downright awful. There were poets, singers, musos all having a go, and the audience was large, sympathetic, noisy and merrily inebriated.
At last it was Ron's turn. He got up and took the mic with ease, his face a picture of concentration. And then he launched into his first cover and it was immediately obvious he was in a league of his own.
The first chords brought an end to audience chatter, the atmosphere in the room became electric, heads turned towards him, drinks to lips momentarily paused.
Ron's gravelly voice had the audience rocking, they were spellbound, they weren't used to someone so talented just walking into that pub, signing up, playing and seizing the night. Everyone was with Ron, everyone was in the band.
The applause, the happiness, the shared enjoyment was at fever pitch. Ron had once again brought the house down.
Too soon, the entertainment was over. We slowly staggered to our room, having had a few drinks too many, and upon opening the door, were greeted with not only the acrid fumes of cigarette smoke, but the chill of winter Katoomba air.
The voices of many a drunken patron were rising loudly and incoherently from the carpark and through our window. The prospect of a good night's sleep seemed somewhat far off, but mercifully the carpark cleared relatively quickly, the bed was very snug, and we were a little the worse for wear.
After indulging in a hearty breakfast the next morning, and fossicking through the shops of Katoomba Street in search of a treasure or souvenir of our two-day getaway, it was time to head for the station, and home.
We all settled back to enjoy the train trip back to Sydney, having had an eventful, exhilarating, and relatively cheap two-day romp.
We were content, the contentment that comes from a full heart. We'd had a lot of fun with good mates, slept in a dubious space, drunk far too much, enjoyed some great music and laughed constantly.
I still have vivid memories of that Katoomba pub room. I do wonder if the window ever got repaired. I'll tell you one thing: I won't be going back to check.
NEWS